


Calculations

by sublime42



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Broken Bones, Hurt!Matt, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, chubby!matt, may be ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 14:56:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublime42/pseuds/sublime42
Summary: Matt breaks his leg and wrist during a fight. The five months of inactivity afterward take a toll on his waistline.





	Calculations

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by The More You Have, The More You Want by infiniteeight (https://archiveofourown.org/works/6456799), which is probably one of my absolute favorite fics on AO3. I agree that Matt wouldn't let himself go intentionally, something would have to happen for him to do that, so I sort of wrote a backstory to it.
> 
> Hope that is ok, infiniteeight! It is a totally different story, but yours served as inspiration.

It was only a slight miscalculation. He had been off than less than an inch. Most likely it wasn’t even his fault - the fact that the man he was chasing had hit a pipe with another pipe in an effort to hit Matt’s head had thrown his hearing, and Matt had lost his balance. 

The drop wasn’t that high, either. Maybe ten, fifteen feet. If Matt had jumped willingly, he would have been fine, but since he hadn’t had time to think, he’d fallen at an angle, putting too much weight on his right leg. 

All he heard was a snap. A loud, horrible snap, as the bone broke. 

He screamed. He couldn’t help it. The pain was unimaginable. Far worse than he would’ve thought it would be.

Unable to stand, and again, unable to concentrate, he fell forward, this time landing on his wrist. 

Another snap - this one not quite as loud - as the bone fractured.

Through the haze of pain Matt heard the man that he’d been chasing. He was standing above, on the roof, looking down. Matt wondered if the man would finish him off. Really, he was all too vulnerable, the guy could easily do it. 

But he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t want the trouble. Seconds later, Matt heard the man’s footsteps recede as he ran back into the shadows.

00

Matt liked his apartment, spartan as it was, but walking up six flights of stairs was impossible with his leg broken. He’d managed to break his femur in such a way that had required surgery, after all.

So, Matt reluctantly took up Foggy and Marci’s offer of staying in their guest room, in their apartment which had an elevator and wheelchair access and all of the things that would allow Matt to come and go relatively easily. They’d even set up a shower chair for him, so he could bathe more thoroughly, along with a recliner for him to rest on if getting into the bed in the guest room proved too difficult.

Matt didn’t like it. He appreciated their efforts, but he hated being such a burden, and it showed in his attitude. 

Still, Foggy was kind as ever, Marci was helpful as ever, and they, along with Karen, helped him settle into what would be his home for the next three to six months while he healed.

00

For the first two days, Matt refused to leave the guest room, going so far as to piss in a bottle to avoid going out and using the bathroom.

Foggy and Marci allowed it for a while, bringing him food (which went mostly untouched) and water (which Matt drank a little of, but never enough - Foggy thought he was trying to avoid peeing) but as the forty eight hour mark passed, Foggy put his foot down.

“Matthew,” he said, walking into the room. Matt was sprawled on the bed, ‘staring’ at the ceiling.

There was no response.

“Matt,” he tried again. “We’re having dinner in an hour. I get that you’re bummed about your injuries and all, but I’d really appreciate it if you could come out and eat with us.”

Again no response. 

Foggy sighed.

“I don’t think I’m asking that much of you, really.”

Matt remained silent. Just as Foggy had rolled his eyes and began to walk away, he finally spoke.

“Can you help me wash up first?”

Foggy turned back around, smiling.

“Of course, Matt. No problem at all.”

00

Matt wasn’t all that embarrassed having Foggy see him naked. It was just that it was hard for him to fully wash himself with one arm and with his leg sticking out.

Foggy was good about it. He gently washed Matt’s hair, getting all the sweat and grime that had accumulated in it out. He washed Matt’s back, and even washed his arms, doing his best not to get Matt’s wrist cast wet.

Matt sat there silently, allowing Foggy to move about and tend to him. He hated that his friend had to do this, had to help him in such a basic way, but if he was being truthful, he really did smell bad and he needed a wash.

Foggy helped him dry off when they were done, taking extra care to dry Matt’s hair and even style it with a comb. Then he helped Matt dress in his new uniform - boxers and a t-shirt, and wheeled him back out into the apartment.

Matt had to admit that the shower had lifted his mood some. Feeling dirty and unkempt had been bothering him, but he’d felt so guilty asking for help.

Foggy moved him over to the table, where Marci was finishing setting out their meal.

“Matt!” she said, grinning. “I’m so glad you decided to eat with us. It’s the one thing we do together every night when we aren’t working late.”

Matt nodded, unsure of what to say. He was doing it more for Foggy’s sake than anything.

“We made pasta and garlic bread,” Marci went on, “Foggy said it was one of your favorite meals. Hope you like it.”

With that, Marci began putting a plate together for him before making one for Foggy and then herself.

The food smelled good. Foggy and Marci had clearly used quality ingredients, which was kind of weird because Foggy was the king of cheap and easy junk food while they were in college. Matt supposed that Marci had turned him on to finer meals while they’d been living together.

The scent made Matt’s mouth water, and a second later, his stomach growled. He’d been avoiding eating much in an attempt to avoid having to use the bathroom, something he knew might be humiliating, but now his body was begging for sustenance. 

He raised the fork to his mouth and took a bite. It was good - really good. He hummed his appreciation and began eating at a faster pace, while Foggy and Marci looked on happily. 

After two plates he felt sated, and for the first time since his accident, in a somewhat happy mood.

00

Matt slept better that night than he had in weeks. Having food in his stomach and being clean had calmed him greatly, and he fell into a deep sleep with none of the bad dreams that so often plagued him.

He woke feeling fully rested, which was something very rare for him.

As he considered this unexpected feeling, the smell of pancakes wafted into the room. Apparently, Foggy and Marci were cooking again.

This time Matt didn’t have to be prompted to come out, though maneuvering into the wheelchair on his own did take a bit of work. His reward was the happiness radiating off of his two friends when he arrived.

“He lives!” Foggy joked, and Matt could hear the smile in his voice. 

“I came for the pancakes,” Matt replied, smiling back.

“Ah. Marci’s Friday Morning Blueberry Pancakes, one of the best things on earth.” Foggy looked at Marci, who was busy flipping a pancake onto a plate. “Truly a good compliment if they got Matt to come out and eat with us.”

00

For as long as Matt could remember, food was only about survival. He didn’t eat for pleasure, not like most people did. As a kid, his dad had very little money, and they often just got by in regards to food. Nothing was ever wasted, portions were just big enough to where one wouldn’t be hungry after eating, but they’d never be full, either.

His dad wasn’t a particularly good cook, and after Matt was blinded, it took effort to not smell some of the ingredients that went into Jack’s recipes.

The orphanage was worse. They existed off of food donations, which were often on the brink of going bad. Matt could literally smell the mold and decay on some of the items, and it made him reluctant to do more than force enough food down so that he wouldn’t pass out.

And then there was college. His scholarship had included a meal plan, but classes had been so intense, that most of his energy went into studying. He found himself often too stressed or busy to eat, and Foggy often had to prompt him. The food at Columbia was okay, but not great, and once again Matt would eat enough just to get by.

Then came Daredevil. Daredevil required very specific nutrients to maintain muscle mass and function at his highest capabilities, and most of the time, those nutrients were bland and repetitive, not something Matt looked forward to eating.

But this -the things Foggy and Marci were making - they were good. The ingredients were fresh, probably expensive. There weren’t additives mixed in, no decay or mold to be noted. Even the cooking was just right - for such a small, fit woman, Marci seemed to know a lot about the perfect ways to make delicious food.

The first bite of pancake was heaven. Matt swore that if there really was such a place, this was the type of food that was served. Perfectly heated, blueberries evenly spaced with a hint of vanilla mixed in. It was actually kind of interesting to analyze it all, and for a good minute Matt took it in, trying to detect everything within the recipe.

Then the pancakes started losing their warmth. He decided that it would be a shame to let such a wonderful creation go to waste and began to dig in, finishing his first real breakfast in years.

00

Foggy insisted that Matt work remotely for at least a few days, to get used to moving around the apartment before trekking out onto the snow covered sidewalks of New York. While they could take a cab or uber to work, many were not handicapped accessible, and Matt could easily slip while moving from the car to the wheelchair. Matt thought that this was unlikely, but Foggy really didn’t want to take a chance, so Matt agreed to stay home, if only for Foggy’s peace of mind.

Marci had a workspace that she let Matt use, a desk with enough space for his braille keyboard, laptop and phone. Foggy sent him some documents to review, which he spent the morning doing.

The general quiet of the apartment (at least, as compared to the busy office) was nice, and allowed Matt to get more work done, but he had to admit that by noon he was feeling bored. He missed the flow of people in and out, the conversations between him, Foggy and Karen. The sound of people out on the street. Foggy and Marci’s apartment was on the tenth floor, and while Matt could make out what people were saying and doing, listening was that much harder.

With his work finished, he sent Foggy a message saying that he was going to take a break.

Initially, he’d planned to wheel himself to the patio, or maybe take a shower, as he’d yet to do it that day, but then something else came up: his stomach growled.

It wasn’t unusual. Being Daredevil required him to eat a decent amount of food, otherwise he wouldn’t have the strength to fight, so he often ate several times a day, even if he didn’t quite like what he was ingesting. But now, it wasn’t really a worry. He wouldn’t be able to fight for another three months at least. 

His thoughts went to what Foggy had told him before he’d left for the day - that there were leftovers in the fridge and that Matt could take what he wanted.

After rooting around for a moment, Matt found half a pan of lasagna. Even cold, it smelled wonderful. There was meat mixed in - good cuts of meat - and tomato sauce made from organic tomatoes. Sniffing it further, Matt realized that someone - Marci, he thought - had made the sauce herself instead of getting it from a can.  
Matt’s stomach growled again, reminding him to taste the food rather than smell it. 

He took a bite, not even bothering to heat the food up, and couldn’t help but sigh at the luxury of it. He couldn’t stop himself from taking another, then another.

In the end, he hoped that Foggy and Marci wouldn’t be too mad that he’d eaten the entire portion of it.

00

Foggy knew that Matt had been enjoying his and Marci’s cooking, but he didn’t think much of it. Matt always sort of ate a lot, which made sense after Foggy had learned of Matt’s alter ego.

It had really escaped his mind until about a month after Matt had moved in, when Claire came to visit.

She had come to check up on her “favorite” patient, and had made a comment to the effect of that Matt looked much better than usual, and not because he lacked the cuts and bruises that she usually found on him when she visited. He looked rested, healthier. 

Foggy noticed it too after that. Matt’s skin even looked better. He didn’t have circles under his eyes, either.

Then that evening, he was helping Matt get into the shower. He’d helped Matt remove his shirt - a soft, baggie Columbia hoodie that Matt had taken from Foggy and declared as his favorite - and he’d noticed it.

For the first time in the near decade that he’d known Matt, the man actually had body fat.

Not a lot, just a small amount. A tiny little roll on his stomach when he was sitting. 

He looked Matt over more carefully, noting that Matt’s ribs weren’t as visible, either. 

Huh.

Foggy didn’t say anything. Doing so would probably freak Matt out, make him go into some kind of hardcore diet and training mode where he’d injure himself worse. 

So when Matt asked about the hitch in Foggy’s breath at that moment, Foggy lied. Said something to the effect of that the hoodie _really_ needed to be washed, and hoped that Matt wouldn’t pick up on it.

00

Another two weeks passed, and Matt was officially bored out of his mind. Foggy still didn’t like the idea of him coming into the office, plus the office’s elevator often didn’t work, so getting Matt up the stairs would be near impossible.

They settled for setting up a camera feed where Matt could listen to what was going on there and even video conference with clients while remaining at Foggy’s apartment.

It helped a little, but it didn’t solve Matt’s problem completely. He really needed a hobby. Something that he could do with minimal exertion that kept his mind busy.

Marci came up with it one day as Matt was listening to her cook. He seemed to take such an interest in it, totally intrigued by each ingredient and where it had come from. 

“Cooking. Matt, I bet you’d enjoy cooking,” Marci had said.

Matt agreed that yes, he would enjoy doing it, but that the counters were too high up for him to access in his wheelchair, and he couldn’t stand, so it would be an issue.

“It’s not hard to solve,” Foggy said, thinking it over. All they’d need was a cart with a flat surface that was low enough for Matt to reach. They could store knives, spoons, bowls, whatever Matt needed beneath it. 

A few minutes on Amazon later and they’d found what they needed. Once it arrived, Matt could have something more to occupy his time, and he could help Foggy and Marci with meal prep and at least feel like he was somewhat helping pay his way for living there.

00

Italian was Matt’s favorite type of food to work with. He liked how he could combine the similar ingredients in different ways to make amazing dishes. Eggplant rollatine was his speciality, followed by about five different types of homemade pasta. He’d started paying for the items that he needed to cook with, feeling it was unfair for Foggy or Marci to put out money for his hobby, even if they were all eating the food he was making. So, within a week, he’d acquired a small pasta roller, a tiny food processor, and flour sifter, among the regular items that they’d already had.

During his lunch breaks, Matt would work on rolling dough, feeling it for consistency and loving the softness of it between his fingers. He’d mix tomatoes, basil, thyme and garlic with a tiny bit of sugar to make amazing tomato sauce. Fresh mozzarella - and Matt could tell which stores actually made it fresh, and which ones made it a day or two prior and marketed it falsely - was laid on top of layers of pot cheese, meat, sauce, spices and pasta to make epic lasagnas that surpassed even Marci’s capabilities.

If he had extra time, he’d bake. Pies were really his best in that area, as he could sniff out which fruit was perfectly suited for baking, and had taken to combining other items in the pie crusts, like honey, butter, and brown sugar.

Marci had ended up putting in an extra thirty minutes at the gym every day to combat Matt’s food. Foggy didn’t really take on much damage - he was used to eating high calorie meals, and Matt failed to notice that his boxers were starting to leave red marks in his skin.

Foggy had noticed it, though, as had Marci. With the months of inactivity, much of Matt’s muscle tone was gone, his abs no longer visible, hidden under the weight he’d been consistently putting on.

The boxers that he usually wore around the house were tighter against his thighs, and Foggy bet that if Matt were able to walk around, his legs would be rubbing together now. The tiny roll of flab that Foggy had first noticed was now bigger, a smaller roll on top of that one, both rounded out into a small potbelly after Matt would eat. 

By the three month mark, Matt’s belly was like that even if he wasn’t full. 

Foggy liked it. Marci thought he looked cute with a little meat on him. But both figured that if his casts came off, it would disappear quickly. Matt would try to get into his Daredevil suit and would realize that it didn’t fit and he’d be in shape before the next month was out.

They’d taken him for xrays, thinking that this was the end of their soft, cuddly buddy, only to have the doctor announce that while the wrist cast could be removed, Matt’s leg cast had to stay on for at least another two months.

00

They’d expected Matt to take it worse than he did. He had to be _itching_ to go back out on the streets, right? But he’d simply frowned, and been in a sullen mood for an hour or so, then had appeared back in their kitchen working on some peach cheese pie creation that he’d been mentioning he wanted to try.

“Maybe he’s a stress baker,” Marci suggested, once they were a few blocks away on their respective walks to work, and out of Matt’s earshot. 

“Could be,” Foggy agreed. “Probably a stress eater, too. That pie he made was gone before either of us got a piece of it.”

“Hmm,” Marci considered this. “Well, there are worse things he could be doing. I’m just glad the doctor didn’t mention that he’d put on thirty pounds. I think he would’ve freaked if he knew.”

00

The thing about being full, Matt noticed, was that it blocked out other feelings that he didn’t particularly want to deal with. His body was too focused on digesting to make him consider that there were people out on the street who needed help, whose cries he couldn’t hear as well from that insulated tenth floor apartment. That perhaps he could have tried harder with meditating, that doing so might have made him heal within the three months he could have recovered in.

It made him less apt to think that perhaps he hadn’t done so because for once, he was happy. Sure, he missed walking around and being to bathe without sitting on a chair. But he was living in a nice place, a warm place, with warm, kind people, where there weren’t as many sounds or as much stress. He slept in a cozy bed, hearing the heartbeats of his two friends through the walls, knowing that they were safe nearby, and that they in turn would keep him safe since he couldn’t defend himself.

Thinking about all of that wouldn’t be good. It’d just make him feel guilty, for taking advantage of their hospitality. It’d make him wonder if he was overstaying his welcome, even if Foggy and Marci seemed to be telling the truth that they loved having him there. 

And it wasn’t like he was really committing the sin of gluttony, either. He wasn’t eating until he was sick. Just enough to where he felt good, full, like he’d had enough not to want for a while.

00

Thankfully, Foggy had switched off the camera when Karen made a remark about Matt.

“He’s gained a lot of weight, hasn’t he,” she noted, after a conference between her, Matt and a new client.

“We don’t mention it to him,” Foggy told her. “He seems happier. Who cares if he’s heavier?”

“Oh, no, don’t misunderstand me. He looks good. Definitely happier, more well rested. I just never thought I’d see chubby Matt is all. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Foggy smiled at her.

“Just don’t bring it up around him. We don’t want him to feel bad, or guilty or anything. Besides,” Foggy lowered his voice, “it’ll keep him away from the streets for at least a little while after he’s healed, and that means we can all sleep a little better.”

00

Around the four month mark, Matt finally realized that perhaps, just perhaps, he’d gained a bit of weight.

He’d realized it after noticing that his boxers had been itching his skin, and upon investigating, had found that they were actually digging into him. 

The realization had hurt. He knew, deep down, that something like this could happen, but he’d been avoiding it as best he could. Looks never really mattered much to him, but being too big would make it very difficult to fight once he was back on his feet.

While lying in bed that day, he’d taken inventory of himself. Beyond the indents from his too small clothing, the skin on his sides was thinner, and lined with stretch marks. He could feel how sensitive they were as his fingers ghosted over them.

He reached to his chest, noting that it was softer than it was before. His hard muscle had gone, and while he didn’t exactly have man boobs, he wasn’t totally flat there either.

Even his chin had fat under it. He’d always had a strong jawline, but it was partly hidden, now. He briefly wondered if growing a beard out would cover it more.

He’d have to do something about it, for sure. But right now wasn’t the time. Not when he still couldn’t walk, when fighting would be literally impossible. He made a mental note to at least try to eat better, to try to diet somewhat before his cast was off, and he’d totally planned to stick to it.

His resolve lasted until Marci surprised them with homemade pad thai for dinner that night.

00

Claire hadn’t mentioned anything about his appearance when she visited again. Matt was sure that she’d eyed him up, probably wondering how he’d managed to gain fifty pounds in only five months (that was his estimate, at least), but she had kept her mouth shut, likely out of politeness.

The doctor had brought it up, though, in not so polite terms. He’d mentioned something about BMI and the number thirty three*, and how he ought to try to get it lower again, but Matt had zoned out, unwilling to hear such things that would surely bother him.

At least the cast had come off. He’d need some physical therapy to get back to walking normally, but it wouldn’t take long, the doctor explained, and then he could start an exercise regimen again. 

He’d walked to the cab using a cane, with Foggy and Marci by his sides. The feel of Foggy’s soft clothes against his skin (the only clothes that really fit him, now, and even they were getting tight) comforting him slightly.

They’d taken the elevator to the apartment, Marci saying how since Matt hadn’t started physical therapy, ten flights of stairs might hurt him (not mentioning that he’d probably be out of breath if he tried).

And then he arrived inside, along with his friends. They’d taken seats on the couch to discuss this long coming moment.

“I guess this is it, then,” Foggy said, a note of sadness in his voice. “You’ll be moving back to your place.”

Matt frowned. He could hear the thump of Foggy’s heart, almost begging him not to leave.

“I guess,” Matt replied.

Then Marci spoke.

“We’ll really miss having you here,” she said, and Matt could tell she was speaking the truth. “You made it more of a home than we ever did on our own.”

Matt could sense the sadness in her, too. They _really_ didn’t want him to leave.

And could he really hurt his friends like that? After all they’d done for him?

And he’d need a few months to really get back in shape, right? Having a place where he could rest and feel safe would help with that.

“Well…” Matt started. “I’d miss it here, too. A lot.”

Foggy’s heart skipped a beat, but he stayed silent, as did Marci.

“And it worked out well here, I think,” Matt continued. “We were all happy.”

“Yes,” Marci agreed. “It really was nice.”

“So… if I paid towards the rent, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to stay for a little while longer?” Matt questioned softly. “So I wouldn’t feel like I was still taking advantage.”

Matt could hear the smile in Foggy’s voice as he replied, could nearly smell the pheromones from Marci as her mood lifted.

“I think that could definitely work,” Foggy answered.

**Author's Note:**

> *Charlie Cox was around 175-180 and 5'10 for Daredevil so if Matt gains 50lbs he would be around 230 which is a 33 BMI.


End file.
